


the adventures of two idiot contract killers

by Jay815



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, F/F, Multi, Murder, but like buddycopmovie kind of adventures, crack essentially, sadistic probably, so like not that sadistic because it's more fun this way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2550884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay815/pseuds/Jay815
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. It's a job and someone needs to do it. There will be blood and killing, and there may be idiot detectives who try to pin murder charges on our idiot contract killers. It will be fun. There will be awful chapter titles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. bloody europeans

**Author's Note:**

> There may also be OT3 activities in later chapters, accompanied by fumbling detectives of the redheaded variety. 
> 
> http://imagine-some-gays.tumblr.com/

_Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk._

“Carmilla.”

_Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk._

“Carmilla, I mean it.”

_Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk._

“Carmilla, we only have 37 more minutes to finish the job before the cleaners get here, stop playing with the target.”

 _Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk. Thunk-thik._

A high-pitched, terrified squeal forces its way out of the throat of the man who has each limb separately duct-taped to the Philippe Starck Louis Ghost armchair, which tilts backwards slightly as he tries to pull away from the woman sitting in front of him. His left hand rests on a solid block of polished wood with a hand-shaped indent carved into it, leaving raised ridges around his fingers. The wooden block is lying on his left thigh, which occasionally spasms with the tension he’s exerting to keep it still.

The raised ridges of the wood block have deep notches from extensive, regular impacts from the tip of a sharp, well-maintained knife. The five grooves for the fingers and hollow for the palm are almost completely smooth, but is currently smeared with a thin layer of blood from where the knife has nicked the ring finger of the man’s hand.

Carmilla grins savagely, making sure the man’s eyes are on her as she leisurely flips the blade in her hand, catching it by the handle each time.

“Lighten up, cupcake. Look at all this minimalist furniture. It’s not going to be hard to clean up.” 

“I’m just glad this place isn’t carpeted. Do you remember last ti-” 

“I remember.” 

“When you refused to listen to me an-” 

“I. Remember.”

_Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk._

“And we had to replace the carpet within the hour and it came out of _our_ paycheck because it was a joint assignment? The way this is a joint assignment?”

_Thunk-thik._

Another squeal squirms its way out of the man’s throat, the sound muffled by the duct tape over his mouth. His pulse point throbs as sweat runs down the side of his face. His nostrils are flared.

“I said I remember, _sugarplum_ , and unless you want to be the one playing this game with me, I suggest you let me finish.”

“Look, Carmilla, I let you indulge in your sadistic fantasies, but really, isn’t this game a tiny bit adolescent?”

At this, Carmilla turns around abruptly, grip tightening around the smooth grip of her hunting knife. Scowling, she says, “As I’ve tried to tell you, _buttercup_ , it’s a respected tradition cultivated among our... _cohort_ in Europe, and I may be based here now, but I do visit occasionally and I don’t want to get out of practice because as you can see, a lapse in concentration results in some distinctly unpleasant consequences.” Carmilla flicks the hand holding the knife, and a few drops of blood fly across the room at Laura, who is leaning against the sleek, marble countertop and wearing a displeased look on her face, even though the blood falls short and misses her.

“I’ve just been to the dry-cleaners, and the stains are getting harder and harder to explain, so would you mind not doing that?”

Carmilla smirks and turns back to the man and, back facing Laura, says, “Whatever, sweetcheeks. 

Laura’s lips pout slightly as her eyes narrow, then re-focus on the leather-clad arse in front of her. She sighs. Carmilla and her theatrics. The transfers from Europe were quite a sight to behold. Hot as hell, most of them seemed to value style over substance, and assignments with _this_ particular European generally resulted in a lot more blood than Laura usually needed to organise the cleaning of.

Carmilla was slick but messier than most of her compatriots. Laura couldn’t deny though that, despite the messes, she was very, very good at what she did, especially when the task involved sadistic torture prior to the kill. Laura had never quite cultivated the passion behind devising methods of torture that could be sustained over a long period of time, didn’t immediately kill the target, made relatively little mess, and inspired pee-in-your-pants levels of fear.

Carmilla, on the other hand, seemed to regard that aspect of their job as a form of art, taking to it the way Robert Morris took to standard dimensions of mass-produced plywood, or Shakespeare to sonnets. 

_Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk._

“Hey, Carmilla, where’d you get that plank thing anyway?”

_Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk._

“A friend of mine back in Austria carved it for me special before I left. He has a way with knives.”

_Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk. Thunkthuk._

“Why, do you want one, cutie?” The leather-clad arse is torn from her view as Carmilla flips around to face her, and Laura wills her eyes back up to look at Carmilla’s face instead, which would have worked were they not distracted by the amount of skin Carmilla’s corset reveals.

Carmilla notices and smiles lasciviously at Laura, sending shivers down her spine, and Laura thinks it might be nearly time to move on to another career because the knife in Carmilla’s hand is only adding to the other woman’s attractiveness.

Honestly, Europeans. A corset? On the job? It wasn’t exactly the most practical outfit for the torture and murder of a wealthy man whose will left everything to his son, who happened to be their employer. 

Laura had long stopped trying to moralise on the job. Rich domestic abuser or hardworking college kid on a scholarship, a hit was a hit, she was _good_ at it, and the job paid well. Occasionally she would decide to mete out the specific stipulations of her contract at her own discretion, such as at times like these. The contract hadn’t specified _torture_ , only _painful death_ for his extensive years of domestic violence against his now-dead wife, but Laura knew Carmilla didn’t read the fine print, and even if she had, she would probably have thrown in the torture for free.

She was just that kind of gal.

Instead of answering Carmilla’s sultry gaze, Laura gestures at the man in the chair. “Are you finished yet?” 

Carmilla’s head shakes slightly, her lips tightening at the edges. “I read his file. He was a puncher.”

So. She had actually read through the entire contract. The girl was better than Laura thought.

Laura lets out a slow breath and shakes her head at the man in disappointment.

“A puncher.”

Carmilla cocks an eyebrow and nods twice. “Care to join me?” Her eyes are burning and terrifyingly beautiful, but the knife being proffered to Laura by the handle doesn’t tremble, and her gaze is steady.

Laura decides then that curiosity will one day lead her to ask about Carmilla’s penchant for picking assignments that involve revenge, but that this particular moment is probably not the time.

“I’ve never really played five finger fillet before,” Laura admits, testing the weight and grip of the knife in her hand.

Carmilla smiles broadly at Laura. It strikes Laura that this was the least sexual smile that the other for-hire had ever directed at her. It is a very endearing smile.

“Good,” she says, the smile growing a fraction wider, as the squealing of the man intensifies. “Good." 


	2. everyone is having a killer time at the club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> allow me to introduce the ginger squad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone is an idiot and no one has sex

What with the throbbing beat of the music sending a low, regular thrum straight to the base of her skull, the five whiskeys she has consumed, and the customary low-lighting in the club, Carmilla is having trouble deciphering the words coming out of Laura’s mouth. She’s watching the shorter woman’s lips closely, but Laura is slurring, and even though they’re sitting at the bar, the lighting is muted, making it even harder for Carmilla to lip-read.

She frowns and, cocking her head, leans over to Laura until her lips are close to the other girl’s ear. “What did you say?” she half-yells over the noise, although it probably sounds more like, “Whaysay?”

Laura giggles. Two hours ago, the woman had expertly stabbed a man in the torso 26 times, a deep scowl of concentration on her face as she aimed for the flesh between the bones, and now she was _giggling_. This profession was absurd. Camus would have a field day.

Placing a hand on Laura’s knee purely to maintain her balance, Carmilla turns her head slightly, arching an eyebrow and looks expectantly at Laura.

Laura head lowers until her lips are almost touching Carmilla’s ear. Her hair tickling Carmilla’s cheek, she repeats, “Why do you have a preference for assignments involving revenge?”

Carmilla pulls back slightly, cocking her head a little more and almost losing her balance off the high stool. She tightens her grip on Laura’s knee and rights herself. “You read my file?”

Laura shrugs, picks up her empty glass and tries to take a drink from it. Disappointed, she puts it back down and says, matter-of-factly, “I read everyone’s file. It’s one of the perks of my position at the firm.”

“What other perks do you get as part of your… _position_?”

The predatory gaze on Carmilla’s face, her tone, her semi-slumped-forward position that had her almost between Laura’s legs, and the hand still on her knee makes quite the picture. Laura feels a shiver run up her spine as she locks eyes with the corseted woman.

“I get to pick my team and distribute assignments amongst them. And myself.”

“And did you get to pick me?” There is no other way to describe the huskiness in Carmilla’s voice – it is _filthy_.

“Was there a picture in my file? I hope it’s the one they took from my right. That's my better angle. Isn’t it?” Carmilla twists slightly in her seat, her hand travelling slightly further up Laura’s leg. She looks up at Laura from a lower angle, a crooked smile displaying a slightly-sharper-than-normal canine.

Before Laura can answer, the bartender briskly sweeps away the empty glasses in front of them and makes eye contact with Laura. Familiar with her regular customer, the bartender raises her eyebrows and waits expectantly for Laura to order. 

Carmilla's eyes travel up the bartender’s long legs until she reaches her face and catches her gaze. “I’ll have a tall whiskey Coke.” Her voice catches the slightest bit on the word tall, making sure the redhead notices.

Turning to Laura, whose eyes are very clearly drinking in the sight that is Danny Lawrence in a sleeveless shirt cut-off at the waist, Carmilla asks, “And you, sweetpea?”

“Uh,”

“Two tequila shots,” Carmilla interrupts, winking at Danny, who blushes and turns around, reaching for the glasses and bottles behind the bar.

“Trying to get me drunk, eh?” Laura spins back around to face Carmilla and nearly topples off the high chair.

Carmilla’s hand lightly rests on Laura’s back, steadying her. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re already there.”

“Don’t change the subject. Answer the question!”

Danny’s slides their drinks onto the counter, interrupting the pair again. Carmilla lets go of Laura, who has swivelled back to gaze at Danny, unconsciously leaning forward over the top of the bar in the process.

Smirking, Carmilla slides a fifty-dollar bill across the top of the sticky bar but doesn’t let go of it. Making sure the redhead is watching her, she picks up the shot with her other hand and locks eyes with Danny. Carmilla delicately licks the salt off the rim of the glass, watching the tips of Danny’s ears grow red. Downing the shot, Carmilla tilts her head and holds the lime above her lips before squeezing it and letting the juices drip between her lips . Dropping the wedge into the empty shot glass, Carmilla licks her thumb, relieving it of any remaining juice. She lets go of the bill with her other hand, and even in the dim lighting, as Danny reaches forward to pick up the note, Carmilla can tell that Danny’s eyes are dark and her cheeks are flushed.

Lightly resting her fingers on the redhead's wrist as her fingers close around the bill, Carmilla leans forward and murmurs, "Keep the change."

Danny returns Carmilla’s gaze with slightly-parted lips. A dimple briefly flashes in the corner of her cheek before she winks at Laura and hurries over to a drunken patron at the other end of the bar. 

Laura’s mouth is slightly agape, her pupils are dilated even further than before, and her eyes are freely roaming from Danny's to Carmilla's.

“Re-hinge your jaw, creampuff. What was the question again?”

Laura blinks and swiftly downs her shot. Sucking on the lime, she turns back around to face Carmilla. “Revenge assignments. Preference. Why?”

Carmilla leans in towards Laura, whose eyes dart down to take in Carmilla’s lips, jawline, collarbones, and then dart back up. When Carmilla is close enough to Laura’s face to feel the gentle puff of her lime-tinged exhale, she answers.

“Mommy issues,” Carmilla purrs with a lopsidedly grin. 

Laura’s lips are warm velvet against hers, and her breath tastes like the fruity cocktails she’s just had and a debilitating _softness_ that makes Carmilla moan and fist her hand in the girl’s hair. Laura’s hand is on her waist, and Carmilla is gently but firmly pulled off her bar stool and planted between Laura’s legs and god, she’s been fucking working toward this moment since she got transferred here three weeks ago and Laura’s hand is sliding into the back pocket of Carmilla’s tight leather pants and-

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t _Mircalla_ Karnstein. Fancy seeing you here,” a loud, insistent voice calls out from behind her.

Carmilla growls into Laura’s mouth and pulls her face away from the surprised, slightly dazed girl.

Still standing between Laura’s legs, so close she can feel Laura’s breaths on her bare shoulder, Carmilla glares at the pair of redheads standing behind her. “What the fuck do you want, _LaFontaine_?”

International Special Agent LaFontaine and International Special Agent Perry. The two agents with the most miserable jobs in the Agency – trying to gather enough evidence against The Firm to indict them on mass murder charges.

It was impossible, of course. The Firm’s work was impeccable. They had partner institutions all over North America, Europe and Asia, forchristssake. They were a fucking multinational billion-dollar corporation. Nevertheless, the Special Agents continued to hound Carmilla all over Europe. Assigned to Carmilla’s case, they had been transferred when Carmilla was, and had since shown up at clubs, restaurants and even the supermarket Carmilla sometimes visited. The pair had even tracked her to a local independent bookstore. (For-hire killers had a soft spot for people whose careers depended on the continued patronage of the community around them. Theirs did too).

Carmilla narrows her eyes at the agent who had interrupted her moment with Laura. _More like LaFonPainInMyArse_ , Carmilla thinks.

LaFontaine, the one with shorter hair and an annoying, seemingly unending reserve of determination to one day crack the case, smiles sarcastically at Laura, who squints. Perry looks slightly nervous and keeps taking glances around them, but she’s been that way ever since Carmilla had been cornered by the pair for the first time several years ago just outside the city limits of Brussels after a particularly harrowing hit.

“And who’s your friend, _Mircalla_?” LaFontaine asks conspiratorially, “Workmate?" 

Carmilla rolls her eyes. They all knew the Agency was never going to get enough leverage or evidence to pin anything definite on The Firm, but the ginger twins seemed to  want to continue playing their side of the charade.

“We have mutual acquaintances,” Carmilla responds in a bored voice, undercut with a layer of annoyance. She's still standing between Laura’s legs, and the body heat emanating off the girl behind her is incredibly distracting. 

LaFontaine looks unconvinced and mildly exasperated. They had probably already read the  file on Laura Hollis in the Agency’s database. This was just yet another game on yet another night. Another ‘accidental’ encounter meant to strike the fear of God into Carmilla, inspire the desire to confess, to beg for a plea bargain, to sell out, instead of allowing herself to languish in prison for the rest of her natural-born life. 

Yeah, right. Unlike the Gingnoramous Squad, Carmilla at least knew who her employers up the chain were. Sort of. She knew enough to know that the bosses of The Firm and the bosses at the Agency were like bulls locked at the horns, neither able to shake the other without causing messy, unwanted damage to both.

Hence the game. Hence the Squad. Hence the attempted shadowing.  

Sometimes, Carmilla gets the feeling that Perry knows a lot more about the goings-on of their employers than she lets on to LaFontaine, but keeps it from her partner so as to not spoil the other’s fun.

“And they are…?” Laura trails off.

“LaFontaine,” Carmilla points, “and Perry,” she points again.

Laura is playing the game, too. The Firm has its own database, which carries various extensive periodicals dedicated to updating its members on the Agency’s reports on them. Carmilla is fairly certain that Laura has an ongoing subscription to all of those periodicals, and probably reads more than the weekly summary.

Sometimes Carmilla wonders about the unhackable depths of the database, but mostly she tries to put it out of her mind. The one time she’d tried hacking into records above her clearance level, she’d ended up having to replace all of her electronic devices connected to her iCloud on a temporarily docked salary. Entirely not worth it.

Laura nods once at each redhead. No one reaches out to shake hands.

“Last call!” Danny calls out from further down the bar.

Perry smiles resolutely and, slipping her arm around LaFontaine’s , chirrups a, “Nice meeting you, Laura!” before dragging her partner away towards the bar.

Laura immediately nestles her face into Carmilla’s hair from behind, her arm possessively curling around the standing girl’s waist. She kisses along the line of Carmilla’s jawline, feels the girl bare her neck to allow Laura access. She breathes against Carmilla’s ear and hears a quiet whimper, feels Carmilla’s shoulders tighten, then go limp, in response.

Trailing her fingers along the line of skin exposed between the corset and her pants, Laura murmurs into Carmilla’s ear, “You know Mircalla is a terrible pseudonym, right?”


	3. the truth is strangler than fiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which everyone is still an idiot and still no one has sex
> 
> slightly more laura x danny, but also laura x carmilla, and a smidgen of danny x carmilla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case the awful title didn't do it for you, TW for strangly, death-related rope activities

Laura isn’t sure how exactly it is that her local bookstore always has what she needs, whether it’s the latest Murakami, (English translation; Laura goes in search of it a month before the official release and somehow, it’s sitting there under the counter and is presented to her with a sly smile as she walks through the door), or a limited edition copy of the original manuscript of _Ariel_ signed by Ted Hughes that she needs for an assignment (the contract had been pedantic, verging on irritating specificity, but hey, the customer’s always right, right?). 

On this particular Thursday, she has a day off and no pressing engagements, so she’d headed to her usual haunt to browse. She nods in greeting at the man behind the counter, whose name Laura cannot remember despite having been told at least fifteen times. She’s slightly relieved that he just nods wordlessly in response; her last three visits had been plagued by the man giving her exactly what she wanted to buy before she could open her mouth to ask for it.

Strolling down the aisles, brushing at spines of books old and new, Laura closes her eyes and breathes deeply, taking in the scent of the bookstore.

And then bumps straight into someone who feels like a wall and budges about as much as a wall would.

Startled, Laura stumbles backwards and trips over her own feet, nearly falling on her butt, except a supportive, strong hand catches her by the wrist and when she looks up, Danny Lawrence is looking down at her with bemused but pleased expression on her face.

“Danny! Hey. Sorry I uh, bumped into you, I mean, I’m not really sorry that I’ve _bumped_ into you but uh, I mean, for walking into you.”

Suppressing a smile, Danny says, “I’m glad you bumped into me, actually. In all senses of the word. Small world, eh?”

“Do you come here often?” Laura tries to ignore the way taller girl’s hair is beatifically backlit by the morning sun pouring in through the arched window behind her, tries to ignore the way it glints off her long, muscled calves and thighs exposed by green, high-waisted shorts, the way – Fuck it, it’s not the sun at all, she’s just harbouring a deep and ungovernable attraction to Danny Lawrence god, those shorts were _sinful_.

Danny shifts the books she’s carrying from one arm to the other. “No, I’ve never been here, but my roommate, Betty, recommended it. She says they probably had whatever I wanted, and probably cheaper than I’d be able to find anywhere else, which is weird for an independent bookstore, but she was right.”

Angling the pile in her arms to show Laura the spines of the four tomes she’s carrying, Danny chuckles ruefully. “I’m not really a big horror geek, usually, but we watched all of the films the other night and I wanted to reread the entire series, but I couldn’t find my copies so here I am. I probably look like I’m planning a killing spree or something.”

Plucking one of the books from Danny’s grip, Laura runs her hand over the cool book jacket, admiring the butterfly illustration. “It’s a good read. Not the most…accurate, but definitely a fun read.”

Raising her eyebrows, Danny purses her lips in amusement. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a crime thriller or horror fan.”

“Research. For um, Lit class. Back in the day. Hah." 

“So uh,” Danny makes a show of peering around Laura behind bookshelves, “I was wondering if uh, that girl you brought with you to the club the other night, are you two-”

“Carmilla! No, we didn’t,” Laura stammers, “I mean, we’re not…together. If that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, okay, um.”

“We were just-” 

“I mean, I kind of noticed-”

Laura blushes.

Danny gives a tiny smile and wryly says, “You two just looked, you know, close.”

/

_The morning after, Laura had woken up in her king-size bed at home, her sheets tangled around her legs. Groaning at the throbbing in her skull, she tightly screws shut her eyes against the stark light flooding in through her bedroom window. She blindly reaches for her phone on her nightstand, groggily noting as she does so that she’s wearing her long-sleeved pyjama t-shirt, the one covered in ducks. Instead of finding her phone, Laura’s hand lands on a piece of notepaper. She squints at it._

You were a little out of it last night, put you to bed. I have an appointment near my place in the morning so I headed home. Your phone’s on the charger. See you Monday, cheesecake.  
C

 _Laura groans again and pulling her pillow over her face, croakily mumbles to herself, “Why the frickle-frackle-fuck do you do these things, Hollis.”_  

/

“We just work together. She transferred here from Austria recently." 

The look on Danny’s face is an odd mixture of relief and…disappointment? Casually, she asks, “Permanent or temporary?”

“Temporarily permanent,” Laura smiles.

Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Danny nods, looking gratified. “What’s work, by the way? You never really say, or you do and I always miss it because the music’s so loud.”

Laura holds up the copy of _Silence of the Lambs_ she took from Danny and stares intently up into the redhead’s gorgeous, cerulean eyes, thinking as she does so that surely, _surely_ that shade of blue should be illegal. 

“This is work,” Laura shakes the book slightly. “I kill people. For a living.” 

Danny’s eyes widen slightly, her mouth opening a fraction and then closing again. Her beautiful, could-cut-glass cheekbones sharpen as her devastating jawline drops in a hearty laugh.

Laura pouts and the book flops to her side.

Danny, still chuckling, pokes gently at Laura’s shoulder. “You’re adorable, you know that? You’re what, 5’3”?”

“5’2”,” Laura mutters. It’s a sore point.

/ 

_Resigned, Laura finally clambers off the table and turns to Carmilla, handing her the other end of the steel wire rope._

_“We’ve already discussed this,_ croissant _. It’s in the brief that you edited 5 times! The ceiling is out of reach for you. We already knew this.”_

_“By one inch! One! Inch!” Laura gripes testily, choosing to momentarily ignore the sudden flip in her stomach that she feels at the sight of Carmilla’s mouth delicately caressing the endearment in a Parisian accent._

_“One inch that we planned for,” Carmilla gestures at her Jeffrey Campbell-clad feet._

_“You didn’t even need to wear those,” Laura huffs, “It’s literally one inch out of my reach on tiptoes; you’re exactly one inch taller.”_

_"_ _Yes, but they make my legs look great,” Carmilla teases as she hops up onto the table._

_She’s right, they do._

_Once Carmilla has finished rigging, Laura tries to tug the limp, unconscious body of the woman whose basement they are currently in up onto the table. The weight on her shoulder is abruptly lifted as Carmilla gently and effortlessly hoists the woman onto the table into a sitting position before beginning to expertly wrap the rope around her neck._

_“You’re stronger than you look,” Laura comments, impressed._

_“Thanks. I lift,” Carmilla replies sardonically. Pursing her lips, she motions for Laura to jump back onto the table. The two of them smoothly haul the woman into a standing position, bracing her up by their shoulders. Glancing at the slim black watch on her wrist, Carmilla nods approvingly, tapping the sleek black face with a leather-gloved finger._

_“Three minutes."_

_They wait there in a companionable silence for two and a half before Laura breaks it and clears her throat._

_“The other night, when you uh, brought me home…”_

_“You have cute pyjamas,_ kifli _._

_Laura blushes and opens her mouth to respond, but they’re interrupted by a low groan coming from the woman between them as she starts to wake up._

_Making eye contact with Laura, Carmilla nods, and they both push away from the table at the same time, jumping away from the woman and landing on their feet. As the table crashes to the ground and the woman starts to choke behind them, Laura pulls the glove off her right hand and brushes her fingers against Carmilla’s shoulder._

_“Thank you. For taking me home and putting me to bed,” she says sincerely._

_Carmilla returns Laura’s gaze , shrugging and smiling slightly. “Any time, cupcake."_

_Picking up her black leather duffel and walking up the stairs of the basement, Carmilla casually adds, “You have cute bras, too.”_

_She smirks as Laura splutters behind her, the woman hanging from the ceiling gurgling away._

_/_

“If you’re not doing anything else right now, do you um, do you like pie? There’s a really good place a few blocks away.” No one has ever looked this attractive while nervously playing with the hem of their sleeveless collared shirt while asking Laura out for pie. No one.

“I love pie,” Laura admits, returning the beam that appears on Danny’s face as they walk back towards the front of the store.

“Find what you were looking for?” She swears she can sense the smugness emanating off the man behind the counter, even though the brim of his hat is so low that at the angle he’s holding his head, she can’t see his face.

Danny gushes about the price of the books in the store, making a joke about not being able to leave, apparently believing he had been speaking to her. 

Laura narrows her eyes at him. She knows whom his comment was directed at.

“Next time, the DVD box set of next season’s Game of Thrones,” Laura hisses at him as she slips out the door behind Danny.


	4. the clot thickens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which our special agents extraordinaire go deeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this trashbaby of a crack fic is going to keep going until i run out of awful titles

_Management regrets to inform Squadron **(REDACTED)** that the current configuration of funding has been dismissed in favour of a new structural operation that will result in more extensive and visible results._

_This re-allocation of funding will result in a temporary suspension of the current activities of Squadron **(REDACTED)** ; all members are expected to, till normal working hours are restored, retain availabilities of _all _working and extra-hours to the management as per the stipulations of the contract as outlined in Subsection R.iii.v._

_Enquiries should be directed towards **(REDACTED)**._

_Regards,_

**_(REDACTED)_ **

/

When Perry walks into their shared office, LaFontaine is seated in their chair, perfectly still, hands resting in their lap, elbows on the armrests of the large leather swivel chair. They watch intently as Perry enters and carefully shuts the door before moving to sit behind her own desk, which is set perpendicular to their own, putting them in an L-shaped configuration around the office. They watch as Perry presses the power button, straightening out the papers on her desk, as if they’re not already perfectly aligned, with stationary lying along a groove carved into the top of the desk. They watch as Perry logs into her account and scans her email.

They watch the slight frown that flickers across Perry’s face, the brief downturn of a corner of her mouth, the minute nod and then the careful schooling of her features into a mask of mature resignation.

And then they fling a pen across the room and huff.

“Please don’t throw pens across the room, LaFontaine,” Perry chides while getting up and picking up the pen.

“Perry, they’re shutting us down! They’re. Shutting. Us. Down. I know you care about this investigation, so don’t pretend you’re okay with this.”

“Well,’ Perry begins carefully, ‘yes, I agree that the work we’re doing here is important, but it’s… understandable. We’ve been working on this aspect of the case for years. Target X.II has been our priority, for good reason, but so far, it’s true that we don’t have anything substantial to show for that.”

“That doesn’t mean they should shut us down! We’re not the only ones affected, P. What about all our minions?’ LaFontaine gestures wildly through the frosted window panes of their office walls at the blur of human shapes hunched over in cubicles, ‘They’re assigned to this case too; where are they going to put them? Are we all just unemployed now?”

“LaFontaine. Calm down. If you had read the addendum to the memo, you would have noticed that our ‘minions’, as you call them – although I would really rather you wouldn’t, they’re people too – are being reassigned into other teams.”

Frowning, LaFontaine grumbles, “We were so close though, P.”

Perry shakes her head. “Just because we can never account for Mirca- _Carmilla’s_ whereabouts at the moments at which suspicious deaths occur doesn’t mean anything. A lack of notable observation does not equal _hard evidence_ , LaFontaine, and hard evidence is what we need. Remember, Carmilla isn’t our goal, not really.”

“I just,’ LaFontaine looks hopelessly around their office, ‘I just don’t understand _why_ they’d shut us down, I mean-’

Perry shushes them with a look.

“I know you cared deeply about this investigation, but we have been _taken off_ this tack. I imagine it must have been for reasons integral to the investigation holistically. All we can do now is comply, since we all want the same things, don’t we? To take down The Firm?” Perry’s eyes grow very wide, and she keeps twitching her head every couple of words, making her curls bounce.

With a jolt, LaFontaine realises what Perry’s insinuating.

“A mole?” they mouth across the room.

A hard nod is all they get in return.

A mole in the department. It made sense. It explained why after so many years, they were always just one step behind, why Carmilla eternally managed to slip their grasp.

The office must be bugged, of course. Perry did weekly bug sweeps, but if it was someone close to their team, they'd know where to hide things. 

LaFontaine gets to their feet. “Since we’re not needed at the office right now, would you like to go get some breakfast? They know how to reach us if they need us.”

Perry smiles.

“Absolutely. I know it’s not the healthiest breakfast option, but I could do with some stress relief. Pie?”

“Pie.”

/

Which is how, walking into the sunny, cheerful diner that fine morning, the pair end up bumping into Laura Hollis and the tall, redheaded bartender from the club, who are walking out.

“Oh, sor-”

“Careful LaFo-”

“Ohmygod, I’m so-”

“Laura, watc-”

For a moment, all four of them freeze on either side of the diner’s threshold. Perry doesn’t miss the mild panic that flickers across Laura’s eyes for the barest second, but she does miss the disconcerted scowl of recognition flashing over Danny’s face that settles into a thin, hard edge in her jaw. Perry misses it, but LaFontaine doesn’t.

Laura beams and breaks the silence by ushering all of them outside, animatedly commenting on _what a coincidence it is_ and _how are you, uh_ , _LaFontaine_? Laura looks at them, _and Perry?_ Laura looks at her _._

“Danny, I don’t know if you remember, but they were at the club the other night when we were. They’re Carmilla’s friends.” If LaFontaine didn’t know any better, they would say that the look on Laura’s face indicated she was genuinely pleased to see them.

Danny shifts the brown bag of books she’s carrying from her right arm to her left, reaching out to shake hands with the pair. “Gin and tonic, lemonade,” she smiles easily at LaFontaine and then Perry.

Impressed, Perry nods. “Good memory.”

“Good pie,” Laura chirrups, pointing back into the diner with her thumb, enticing a sweet smile from Danny. Looking apologetic, Laura touches Danny’s forearm, saying, “I have an appointment so I have to run, but call me!” and then, waving cheerfully at the other two redheads, quickly walks, no, _bounces_ away, and doesn’t look back once.

The three of them stand there in silence for a second, and Perry is just about to say something along the lines of _well, it was nice meeting you, Danny,_ but LaFontaine’s voice cuts through her thoughts, and its _icier_ than she’s heard in a while.

“We don’t know _you_ , Danny, but you know us, and I don’t like that, so start talking.”

Perry would have started berating LaFontaine on their rudeness (old habits die hard) but the suddenly look on Danny’s face, glaring down at them, stops her, and she’s suddenly very aware of Danny’s height and build, and the _lightness_ on her hip gives her a moment of shock that lasts an eternity and sends her into a flashback of her instructor making the class recite _I will never walk around unholstered_ twenty times every morning for six months.

The scowl on Danny’s face is unmistakable now, and despite the bright sunlight shining down on them, there’s a patch of darkness in the corner of Danny’s cheek that eats that light away into nothingness. 

Perry feels the tension in her gut building, and beside her, she feels LaFontaine beginning to shift slightly, can see the corner of their mouth harden.

And then Danny sighs and shakes her head, and the scowl traces less of a harsh line across her bottom jaw. “It’s clear you haven’t been briefed. Got the memo this morning, didn’t you?”

The surprise and suspicion on Perry’s face is nothing to the smug look on LaFontaine’s.

Still shaking her head slightly, Danny says, “You really are a little incompetent aren’t you? Accosting me in the middle of the street, Christ, what are you, interns? Let’s go somewhere a little less public.”

Her training kicking in, Perry refocuses. “And why would we just go off somewhere private with you? Is this some kind of a test?”

Danny cocks her head and straightens her spine, and suddenly, despite her shorts riding high on her thighs, despite her youthful appearance, despite her _sneakers_ , she suddenly looks incredibly authoritative and, with a knowing look on her face, _powerful_.

“You’re going to come with me, _International Special Agents_ , because I know more than you, and if you come with me, I’ll share some of that knowledge and maybe this investigation can finally go somewhere, instead of languishing in failure, as it has been the last two years. Is that clear?”

Without waiting for a response, Danny crosses the street briskly, leaving the one fuming agent and one thoughtful agent behind her to follow.

LaFontaine looks entirely displeased, and Perry prepares herself for what she’s sure is going to be so much more mediation than outlined in her (extensive, thorough and excruciatingly meticulous, thanks to her suggested edits) contract. 


	5. another cog in the murder machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which carmilla the contract killer, unsurprisingly, has a tragic backstory, too
> 
> introducing: the dean, will, and an increasingly convoluted plot that i'm going to need to untangle at some point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm running out of puns, this is a disaster

“… and thank you for your excellent work. That will be all.”

There’s a smattering of applause from the ring of people gathered around the makeshift podium as an incredibly tall woman with excellent posture gracefully sweeps her way off stage.

Laura runs her eyes over her co-workers who are milling around the tables laid out with coffee, sandwiches and biscuits, and manages to catch sight of Carmilla, who pushes herself away from the wall where she’s slumped, a scowl etched into her features, facing the podium.

Laura briefly glances back at, but the attractive older woman – the head of The Firm – is nowhere to be seen. Laura looks back at where Carmilla was, but she too is gone. Frowning slightly, Laura goes back to scrutinising her co-workers, most of whom she sees liberally helping themselves to large doses of strong coffee.

Laura makes a beeline for the cookies, but after picking one up, disappointedly realises that it’s an oatmeal raisin one. “What’s the point?” she mutters to herself under her breath, returning it to the pile as inconspicuously as possible.

“I ask myself that every day, and I never manage to come up with a satisfactory answer.” The Austrian accent is light, but noticeable; looking up, Laura finds herself waylaid by an unfamiliar trim young man with strong features. 

“William,” he introduces himself, reaching out to shake Laura’s hand.

Disconcerted, Laura returns the handshake, saying, “I’m Lau-”

“Laura,’ he cuts in, ‘I know. You work with my sister.”

Laura squints for a second, taken-aback, then she snaps her fingers. “Carmilla. Of course. You have the same nose, I see it now."

William’s smile is oddly sharp, which reminds Laura of…

“The Lady-Boss being our adopted mother is the only thing we share, actually.”

Laura gapes for a second, and then it falls into place.

“Wait, your mom’s the-”

/

“Fuck you!”

There’s a distinct “ _tutting_ ” that filters through the tiny gap in the bathroom door, where Laura has paused mid-entry.

A beat of silence, Laura tenses and prepares to leap backwards, hide behind the corner, and then, “I sent you to backwoods Canada for punishment, darling, not pleasure. You used to be good at this job, what happened?”

Another pause.

“Get your shit together and stop fucking around. A job’s a job, so do it or I will get William to-”

Carmilla’s sneering voice now. “And what’s little Willy going to do, nag me to death? That’s the only way he’s ever going to complete a job on his own, isn’t it?”

An amused sigh. “This sibling rivalry is amusing, but childish. Do your job, Mircalla, and when it’s done, you can come home." 

“Carmilla.” 

“Do as I ask, sweetheart, and I will call you by whatever ridiculous new anagram you come up with.”

Laura’s so distracted by the sickly sweet tone that she barely has time to register the sharp _click_ of heels on the floor, managing to jump back deeper into the gloom of the hallway just as the head of The Firm glides out of the bathroom, tapping away on an iPhone in her hand.

Taking a breath, Laura pushes through the door, hearing several sharp thumps accompanied by an animalistic snarl as she walks in.

“Carm?” Laura finds herself face-to-face with a wild-eyed Carmilla, whose fists are clenched into angry-red balls. The skin on her knuckles has split, and her eyeliner is smudged.

Laura barely manages to notice these things before Carmilla has Laura pressed against a wall, one hand behind her head, one around her waist, hot breath against her cheek.

“Carm,” Laura says again, softly. Carmilla’s eyes are dark, furious, and her lips are rough, her teeth hard. Laura moans into a mouth that opens and slides its way to her neck, sucking hard, then soft, then moving up to nip at her earlobe. Laura’s body thrums, but Carmilla’s is tense, ramrod-straight, held against Laura but hard and stiff.

Laura tugs gently at Carmilla’s hair and she pulls away, her face blank. Cupping her face in her hands, Laura looks into her eyes before leaning forward to kiss the corner of Carmilla’s mouth.

The tension seems to seep out of Carmilla abruptly and she sags slightly into Laura’s arms, letting herself be enveloped. Lips buried in light-brown hair, Carmilla murmurs, “Can we go get fucking drunk?” against the side of Laura’s neck, and feels a chin nod twice into her shoulder.

/

“You drive a little fast,” Laura comments as she follows Carmilla into the lift.

Carmilla stabs the _9_ and flatly replies, “Deathwish.”

Laura rolls her eyes and waits until they’ve entered Carmilla’s sparsely decorated, spacious apartment before speaking again. “I met your brother. William?”

The car keys hit the countertop with a little too much force, but Carmilla snorts with what seems more like amusement than derision. All she says in response is, “do you drink anything besides fruity cocktails, cupcake?”

Carmilla pours herself a generous amount of whiskey, neat, but she doesn’t drink it yet, pointedly looking at Laura.

“Baileys,” Laura says, finally.

Carmilla raises an eyebrow, but reaches into the second row of her liquor shelf to pull out the bottle.

“It’s delicious, okay?” Laura says defensively as she accepts the glass from Carmilla, following her to the living area.

Taking a slow sip, Carmilla sinks into one end of the couch. Laura perches on the other end, her glass cupped in her hand.

For a while, they just sit there, each focussed on their own thoughts, then Laura says, “You weren’t kidding when you said ‘mommy issues’, huh?” which makes Carmilla laugh harshly once as her face settles into weary amusement.

“ _Krempita_ , you have no idea.”

Laura waits. Carmilla sighs. 

There’s long pause, during which Laura is about to give up, change the subject, and then. 

“Will and I were adopted just after birth, I think, kind of… twisted social experiments. She wanted to see if you could raise the perfect killer. Pure, unadulterated skill, and none of that empathy shit that makes for things like _questioning_ and _doubting_ and _consideration of other people’s feelings_. She wanted all brawn, all brain, and zero humanity.”

Carmilla lets out another bark of laughter. “Both of us only ever managed two out of three, but she got good agents out of it nevertheless. I pulled off 289 hits last year without a partner, 23 of them couple or families. I’m fucking amazing at this job and I can’t leave because it’s all I know how to do. Plus, if I ever tried to leave, Mother Dearest would slaughter me. Double plus, ‘can disembowel a man within 20 seconds’ isn’t something I can put on my CV.”

Carmilla brings the bottle of Macallan and Baileys into the living room, liberally refilling her own glass and putting a splash more into Laura’s.

“Will’s trying to top my record this year, but like I said, two out of three, and brains are much more useful than sociopathy. Still, it has its perks…” Carmilla trails off, throwing back the rest of her glass’ contents and humming appreciatively. 

Laura waits a moment, then impatiently prompts, “Are you going to finish that story, or?”

“I like it when you’re bossy, _remonce_ ,” Carmilla winks. 

“It was all fine not being a complete sociopath until I fucked up an assignment. Turns out, I was supposed to bury the guy alive so that he could be _dug_ back up later by someone else, terrified and compliant, but me and my _empathy_ couldn’t bear putting the guy in coffin in the ground to die so I killed the bastard first, and confirmed that I’d completed the job. Couple days later, well. They weren’t so happy then.

A hard smile spreads its way across Carmilla’s face. “Apparently that was a pretty important guy, too, whose death – and The Firm – then came under suspicion. So I got _demoted_. Because I wasn’t told he wasn’t actually going to be left to rot, and I figured if he was going to die anyway… Well. Mother’s been permanently pissed at me since. And here I am.” Carmilla spreads her arms out mock-exuberantly.

“Except, of course, Mother didn’t quite realise just how relieved I’d be to get demoted. I’m on what, three assignments _max_ per week now that I’m here? It’s great. I’m taking in the sights, reading, slacking off, dancing with pretty girls…” Carmilla grins broadly across at Laura, a slightly manic look entering her eyes. She shakes her head and the look disappears.

“I fucking did 289 hits without making it through the year. Willy was only on 130 by the time I got suspended. What a joke.”

Glancing over at Laura, Carmilla sees that the other woman is trying, and failing, to decide on an appropriate verbal and facial reaction. Catching her eye, Laura shrugs slightly and lets her shoulders slump. “You really weren’t kidding. Mommy issues, eh?" 

Carmilla laughs, genuinely amused this time. “Mommy issues,” she agrees.

Laura hesitates, then finishes the rest of her drink and puts the glass down on the floor. Standing up, she walks over to stand in front of Carmilla, who lets her own glass be pulled out of her hand.

Laura’s breath is sweet from the liqueur, but her lips are warm and her hands are soft. Carmilla lets herself fall into the caress of Laura’s tongue on her skin as her loose t-shirt, deliberately old and worn in honour of her mother’s visit, is pulled up over her shirt and dropped to the floor. She lightly scratches her nails over Laura’s lower back as the slightly shorter woman grazes her collarbone with her teeth. As Laura unbuttons her jeans, Carmilla looks down and sees dark, molten eyes gazing back into her own as Laura's hands still on the edges of her jeans. Carmilla nods once and smiles very slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is always deeply appreciated


	6. your heart's a mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, for once in this ridiculous saga, several people have sex, and i continue to make awful, awful puns
> 
> relatively graphic descriptions of the usual shenanigans (murder)

“Salty or sweet?” The voice in Carmilla’s ear is playful, the gust of breath lightly breezing past her earlobe, light. 

Turning, Carmilla involuntarily clenches her fist because: Danny Lawrence in tight black jeans cuffed over a pair of scuffed white Converses, and a loose flannel shirt with the top _several_ buttons open, which Carmilla can’t help noticing because Danny’s leaning over slightly so that they’re face-to-face and –

Carmilla doesn’t believe in any god, but angels? They’re real, and they’re right there staring out at her from Danny’s impossibly blue eyes. 

Leaning back on her left leg slightly, Carmilla pivots and admires Danny’s clavicle, letting her eyes trail up her neck and over her jawline. “Definitely sweet,” she replies, her throat tight.

“Are you here on your own?”

Carmilla nods. She’d invited Laura, but something had come up.

/

_When_ ‘Blank Space’ _starts blaring from Laura’s phone (abandoned in her pants pocket outside Carmilla’s bedroom) at 8.36 a.m., Carmilla groans and contemplates teasing Laura about her ringtone as she shifts in Carmilla’s arms._

_“Mmfmph.”_

_Carmilla pulls Laura’s warm, bare back closer against herself, tucking her nose against Laura’s neck. She’s sleepily trailing her hand over Laura’s hipbone, finger and thumb playing with the thin waistband of Laura’s underwear – lazily tugged back on before they fell asleep – when Laura suddenly jerks up and scrambles off the bed and out of the bedroom._

_Blearily, Carmilla hears the ringtone cut off and then Laura apologising profusely before she hangs up with a, “I’ll be there in half an hour, I’m so sorry, the date completely slipped my mind.”_

_Laura sheepishly re-enters the bedroom, arms crossed over her chest, phone dangling from her fingers, and says, “I forgot that my friend’s visiting from San Francisco today. That’s why we don’t have any assignments scheduled. She’s outside my place right now. I have to go.”_

_Laura bends over next to Carmilla’s side of the bed, reaching for her bra, the strap of which is peeking out from under the bed, but before she can put it on, a very naked, on her knees Carmilla pushes her softly against the wall. She automatically tangles her hand into Carmilla’s tousled hair even as she opens her mouth to protest that she has to leave – but then Carmilla’s lips are kissing between her breasts and down over her abdomen, and there are teeth locked around the waistband of her underwear and dark, hungry eyes locked onto hers and – fuck._

_“Ten minutes,” she exhales agreeably, her hips canting forward as Carmilla’s teeth drag lightly over her hipbone, tongue drawing circles over hot skin._

_It’s 49 minutes before Laura barrels out of her car towards a bemused Natalie, (sitting on the steps of the entrance of her apartment), greetings and apologies on her tongue, red marks over the backs of her thighs and darkening skin on her neck._

_/_

“Me too,” Danny smiles easily, “Carmilla, right? Do you want to share a really large box of caramel popcorn? We’ll probably need it.”

“Are you inviting yourself to sit with me for the next five hours, cherry pie?”

Danny grins effortlessly at Carmilla and shrugs. “It’s unreserved seating and we’re both here alone. C’mon, I’ll even buy the drinks for a change.

Carmilla nods before she even realises she’s doing it, and is about to catch herself but there’s the barest touch to her back and she’s somehow smoothly steered her into the queue at the confectionary counter.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a Tarantino fan,” Carmilla admits.

“Badass ladies slaying the hell out of everyone? I’m down for that; back-to-back Kill Bill screenings on a Thursday night, where else would I be? Whiskey coke, right?” Danny asks lightly, already pulling a slim wallet out from her back pocket and leaning over the counter. “Can I get two whiskey cokes and an extra-large caramel popcorn? And a bottle of water, please. Thanks." 

Carmilla tucks her hands into her back pockets as she watches Danny pay, watches the swing of Danny’s hair, held back in a loose ponytail. Their fingers don’t brush when Danny passes the plastic cup over to Carmilla, but Danny’s posture shifts almost-imperceptibly as Carmilla takes a sip and licks the rip of the plastic.

They start the first film in two separate plush seats in the back row, end the evening in one, and they don’t manage to finish the popcorn. 

//

“Am I just particularly attractive today or do I have food stains on my clothes, cronut?”

Laura opens her mouth, expecting a formulated response to escape, but then closes it again when none does. She doesn’t stop scrutinising Carmilla, trying to pinpoint the detail that’s bothering her. Tight leather pants – fine, black tank top – appropriate, plain black boots today – also appropriate, sleek red cordless drill held aloft – check, but… 

“Seriously, what’s up, kalács?” Carmilla squeezes the trigger a few times, the drill humming quietly in response.

Laura’s about to shake her head, and then she realises. “You didn’t go home last night!”

Her only response is a few more buzzes on the drill, a barely raised eyebrow and a marginal upward curve of Carmilla’s lip.

“Well?” Laura presses. 

“You packed the spare batteries, right?” Carmilla turns back to the burly man they’ve strapped to the steel worktop, checking the leather restraints over the man’s chest, wrists and feet again.

“I can tell because your eyeliner’s smudged but looks like its been smudged from the design I saw on your Snapchat last night,” Laura says while waving two packages of batteries in Carmilla’s face. “Also, you know he’s already dead, right? The sarin killed him three minutes ago. You know, that little tiny puncture point we made with a needle, through which, using a syringe we-”

Carmilla rolls her eyes and walks back up to the head of the worktop. “Well done, Lois Lane. And that’s not the point; the restraints are the point. Now stop examining me and focus on him.”

Carmilla braces herself and pulls the trigger, and briefly, there’s only the _schlepp-schlepp_ sounds of a high-powered drill making swift work of the flesh over the man’s heart, and then there’s a grating whine as the drill bit hits a rib. Scowling, Carmilla angles her hand and pushes down; there’s a wet _schlock!_ as the drill swiftly buries itself into the man’s heart.

Releasing her finger off the trigger, Carmilla gives Laura a slight sly grin. “Cross my heart, hope to die, it’s my own cheating heart that makes me die." 

Laura shakes her head. “You’re awful.” 

Carmilla starts to hum the song from the beginning as she tugs on the drill and moves over to stand over the man’s pelvic bone as Laura starts hammering strategically located nails into the man’s chest. 

“So, are you going to tell me about it?”

Pressing down hard on the drill as she squeezes the trigger, Carmilla grins over at Laura. “She was supremely hot, tall and had flaming red hair.”

“Fuck!” Laura holds her free hand away from her, thumb twitching, and Carmilla throws her hands into the air, eyes locked on the blood-stained hammer raised in Laura’s other hand.

“Woah, Thor Junior, put that away, he’s the one we have to whack, not me.”

“Danny Lawrence?” Laura’s voice is a decidedly much higher register than Carmilla’s ever heard, even compared to two nights ago.

Carmilla shrugs.

Laura takes a deep breath and in a rush, says, “I am feeling intense amounts of jealousy but I don’t know to whom it is directed.”

/

_The inside of Danny’s front door is hard and cold against Carmilla’s bare shoulder blades; Danny’s lips on her neck are soft and warm. Carmilla grips Danny’s shoulders, feels hands pulling at her waistband, hair tickling under her chin._

_There is a low groan, pressing at seams. There is an attempt from one to tug the other further down the hallway, there is a growled, “no,” and there is a firm pressing of the other against a cool wall._

_Someone moans._

/

They finish the rest of the job in silence.

Carmilla almost flinches when Laura reaches for the nail gun, but she only smoothly points it between the man’s forehead and steadily pulls the trigger.

Carmilla catches Laura staring at her chest as they’re packing their equipment.

“There’s something on your…”

Carmilla grimaces and flicks at the dried gloop stuck on her tanktop. “My mother always said I wear my heart on my sleeve." 

Carmilla doesn’t miss Laura’s stifled laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm over at imagine-some-gays.tumblr.com, come join me for a decidedly Fun Time.


	7. cupid's chokehold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which this au is out of control and utterly ridiculous

“You _slept_ with her?”

Danny exhales very slowly through her nose as she shuffles the papers in front of her into a worn, unmarked folder. She gestures for LaFontaine, irate, scowling, and towering over Danny’s notes spread out across her living room floor, to sit on the couch, and Perry, smiling apologetically, tugs at their arm until they do.

Cross-legged on the floor, in shorts, socks, and a raglan shirt, wet hair swept to the side, glasses askew, Danny somehow manages to still exude a sense of tired, calm authority.

Or, as LaFontaine thinks to themselves, a sense of smarmy, infuriating superiority.

“I think what LaFontaine meant is that they ah, are a little surprised at your methods.”

“Surprised? I was _surprised_ by the car this morning that ignored a red light and nearly caused a pile-up, and I’m _surprised_ every time I remember how deep oceans actually are. This isn’t a _surprise_ , Perry, this is – this is –” LaFontaine throws their hairs up in the air and gives up.

Danny shrugs slightly. “I admit that my methods are a little unorthodox.”

Betty, walking in from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee, laughs wryly. “Unorthodox is one way to put it. But they’re definitely effective, Agents. Trust us.”

Danny accepts one of the mugs and takes a long, appreciative sip as Betty sits down at the other end of the couch.

LaFontaine frowns.

Danny sighs. “Look, your department was so full of moles you wouldn’t have been able to even get away with using one too many strips of toilet paper. Betty’s in charge of this case now, but we’ve been prepping for months. And,’ Danny pointedly holds a finger up, ‘we’re further into cracking this than either of you ever got –”

“Yes, because evidently, _sleeping with murderers_ is the best way to –”

“I admit,’ Danny repeats, loudly and slowly, cutting LaFontaine off, ‘that our methods are a little unorthodox. But considering the nature of the investigation, considering the politics, the people involved… Unorthodox is the way to go. And when we take down the entire Firm, who’s going to question our methods?”

Perry shifts uncomfortably in her seat, and Betty laughs delightedly. “Lots of people, apparently, Danny.”

Danny shrugs again. “I get my job done; I get the right people put away, I do it with limited resources, and the fewest number of fatalities. _Whatever_ ,” she adds, as if that settles the matter.

“It’s just that, isn’t it a bit… dangerous?”

Danny glances at Perry. “Probably. But it’s also the quickest way. I mean, after all, I’m just Danny Lawrence, part-time bartender, part-time lady lover, full-time slacker, living cheap off Betty-the-rich-but-naïve-Princeton-graduate, messing around the neighbourhood as I wait for life to begin. I’m the least suspicious person around; what could be safer?”

As an afterthought, Danny adds, “It’s about as safe as trying to trail them and catch them in the act, anyway.”

LaFontaine releases a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. What’s the plan, then?”

Danny grins as she starts gathering up some of her papers. “The plan?” Danny pauses dramatically, then announces, ‘bowling." 

LaFontaine opens their mouth as if to retort, but seem to think better of it. Perry, however, lets out an indignant, high-pitched, “Bowling?!”

**.**  

“Are you ready yet, _djevrek_?” Carmilla groans from where she’s sprawled across Laura’s couch.

Laura appears suddenly, bent over Carmilla, her hair swept sideways, falling to tickle Carmilla’s cheek. Carmilla smiles as Laura leans down to take her lip between her teeth with a gentle tug. Laura yelps as Carmilla pulls her by the hip to topple her onto the couch to lie above her, deepening the kiss.

“We’re going to be late,” Laura grins, her hand tangled in Carmilla’s hair, lips hovering hotly next to Carmilla’s ear. Underneath her, Carmilla arches up lightly.

“So we’ll be late. Danny can wait.”

Laura presses a lingering kiss along the side of Carmilla’s neck, smirking at her disappointed groan when she pulls back and rolls off Carmilla. Laura reaches out a hand.

“Come on. You don’t wanna be late for our first date.”

Carmilla takes it, lets Laura pull her up, and uses the momentum to propel herself back into a tight embrace with the other girl, who rolls her eyes as Carmilla kisses her slowly on the corner of her lip. 

“So, Danny Lawrence, eh?” Carmilla snags her car keys off Laura’s kitchen counter as she’s pulled towards the front door. 

Laura shakes her head. “The Agency is a farce. Did they really think we wouldn’t figure it out within like, 3 seconds?”

Carmilla shrugs as she pushes Laura up against the wall just inside the door, kisses her roughly, lips wet, breath hot, teasing bites, until they’re both breathless, presses a leather-clad thigh between Laura’s legs as Laura moans into her mouth and clutches at the hem of Carmilla’s sheer black t-shirt. One hand cupping the back of Laura’s hair, the other gripping Laura’s thigh, Carmilla rests her forehead against Laura’s, panting gently. 

“Is that a knife in your pants or are you just happy to see me?”

Laura squints at Carmilla.

“It’s a belt, which is both more effective and easier to hide.”

“Why can’t you just put a knife in your shoe like the rest of us, shortcake?”

“Because not all of us wear black combat boots even in good weather, Carmilla.”

Carmilla glances at Laura’s polka dot shirt tucked into black pants and nods condescendingly, lightly stepping on the toe of Laura’s sneaker.

“You know they’re steel-capped, right?”

Laura exaggeratedly rolls her eyes. “I know.”

**.**

_Laura winces as Carmilla continues viciously kicking the man’s side – he’d long since passed out from the pain – and holds up a hand when she hears the last crack she’d been waiting for._

_“That the last one?”_

_“Yep.”_

_“Breaking 37 bones_ and _all of his ribs took a lot less time than I thought we would need.”_

_“Well,’ Carmilla taps at her bloodied boot, ‘I came prepared.”_

**.**

“You two would make terrible spies; how’d you manage to miss me?” Danny says from behind Laura and Carmilla, as she wraps an arm around each of their shoulders.

“It definitely wasn’t for lack of trying,” Carmilla says lowly, letting her hand settle low on Danny’s back, warm and soft, eliciting a laugh. 

Danny bends down slightly to kiss Laura on the cheek, who smiles and tugs on Danny’s hand until she manages to return the kiss, slightly closer to Danny’s lip.

“So, who’s ready to get absolutely trashed by me at this utterly preposterous yet addictive sport?”

They barely make it through one game before Carmilla bows out, citing _complete and magnificent boredom, but don’t mind me, I’ll sit right here_ , and proceeds to lazily yet suggestively stare at Laura and Danny for the next two games, during which Laura loses to Danny, who manages strikes nearly every frame, but only barely.

“You have a really consistent throw, Laura,’ Danny comments, impressed, as she lines herself up for her final frame, ‘Do you bowl?”

“She’s just had a lot of practice overcoming RSI, especially with her right hand,” Carmilla calls out, a discernible smirk in her voice.

Danny laughs and smiles knowingly at Laura, who blushes slightly.

**.**

_“I am never,_ ever _, accepting another assignment involving sawing someone’s head open with a handsaw.”_

_Carmilla looks up from where she’s sewing the man’s eyes and lips shut. “It’s all about sending a message,_ kifli _, you know that. He saw, and spoke, and now he can’t see, can’t speak; should've used his head etc."_

_Laura wipes her forehead against a sleeve, annoyed. “This client has definitely watched one too many episodes of CSI.”_

_“New York?”_

_Laura nods grimly._

_For a few minutes, they work in silence, punctuated only by the heavy_ shrik, shrik _sound of serrated metal on bone and Laura’s annoyed huffs._

_“Get it, saw?”_

_Laura groans. “You’re that asshole who explains all of their jokes, aren’t you?”_

_Carmilla smiles sweetly back at Laura. “I don’t see why you’re so annoyed. You weren’t complaining when you were making the same movements last nigh-”_

_“I wasn’t trying to saw you in half!”_

_“Felt like it.”_

_Carmilla laughs and ducks when Laura brandishes the bloodied handsaw at her._

**.**

Danny swallows hard through the dry lump in her throat before squeezing her eyes open slightly, blinking hard. She breathes out very slowly through her nose as she flexes gently at the leather straps holding her arms and legs against the sturdy armrests of the chair before looking around the room.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” Carmilla’s voice is soft, benign.

Danny looks around, takes in the muted tones of the living room, Carmilla’s comfortable sprawl on the couch, Laura’s perch on the kitchen counter across the sparsely decorated loft and tilts her head. 

“Minimalistic. Dimly lit. Well-stocked bar. It suits you.”

Carmilla smiles indulgently back at Danny. 

Danny clears her throat with a wince, mind racing. She’d gotten overconfident. She wonders about her phone and the GPS tracker in it. She runs back over the events of the last few days? no, hours – Laura and Carmilla are still in the same clothes (but of course, it could be a ruse) – but she doesn’t feel hungry, just tired and aching all over, so they probably used a strong but only temporary knockout drug, maybe – no, not the right time to care about that.

Which drink? The third or fourth? If it was the first two she would definitely have noticed, but after that, she’d begun to get genuinely distracted by the dark, meaningful looks Laura had thrown her, the way Carmilla had run her hand up her back, the way Laura had pulled her onto the dance floor, pulled her down to–

Fuck. 

If she made her way out of this alive, she was going to get _so_ much shit about her methods. Endless ribbing, at the very least, and probably more than a few ‘I told you so’s’ from LaFontaine.

Briefly, Danny wonders how much money will exchange hands about the length of time it took her to get caught out and murdered on a mission.

She hopes Betty will win some, but then, Betty – clever, sharp Betty – has always bet on her surviving.

Danny glances at the leather restraints around her limbs again and decides that she’d probably put money against herself. 

“You know,’ Danny starts casually, ‘and don’t get me wrong; I’m not adverse to this just because it’s our first date – I’m very open to trying new things – but isn’t the protocol usually to sit down and discuss safewords first?” 

Carmilla looks at Danny with a look on her face that resembles fondness, and then turns around to glance at Laura.

“She’s kind of cute sometimes. Can we can keep her?” 

Laura snorts and hops off the counter to fill up a tall glass of water at the sink, which she brings over to Danny. Laura mentally chides herself at the slight hurt she feels at Danny’s hesitation before taking a few slow sips when Laura holds the glass against her lips.

When Danny nods, Laura puts the glass down next to the couch before lifting Carmilla’s legs up, sitting down, and then dropping them back onto her own lap.

Somewhere under her concerns about getting shot through the head, Danny feels a bittersweet pang.

_“You know work is just work, right?”_ Betty had asked her. She’d rolled her eyes and nodded. Of course she knew that. She’d always known that.

But knowing doesn’t always translate into actionable behaviours. Danny swallows again, hard.

“So,’ Danny tries again, ‘are you two some kind of sociopathic kidnapper murderers, or?”

Laura rolls her eyes, but her lips lift up in a reluctant smile even as she says, “Don’t play cute with us, Danny, we don’t have that much time.”

“Agent Lawrence.” Carmilla muses, rolling the words around in her mouth. “You know, maybe one day we’ll look back on this and the only concern we’ll have will be how many times we can work this into a roleplay scenario without getting bored.”

Danny feels her breath catch in her throat. Inclining her head slightly, she echoes, “We?”

“We,” Laura agrees, pulling out a sheaf of paper from a leather satchel beside the couch.

“Our terms," Laura elaborates, stacking the whole pile on Danny’s lap.

Danny stares belligerently between Laura and Carmilla, who are watching her intently, before sighing impatiently.

“Look, Carmilla can attest to my having a pretty dexterous tongue, but it’s not a foot long. You might need to flip these for me.”

Carmilla rolls her eyes and, in one continuous movement, pulls a slender knife from her boot and slashes through the leather binding on Danny’s right hand, then tucks the knife back into her boot.

Danny gingerly stretches out her arm and, when neither Laura nor Carmilla move to stop her, starts loosening restraints on her left hand as Laura berates Carmilla for her theatrics – “Did you have to? I bought that in _Italy_ …”

With her legs still tied up, Danny starts flipping through the pile of papers before shaking her head and rubbing at her temples.

“Can’t you two just summarise this?”

“I thought you could do 800 words per minute with 79% comprehension?” Carmilla smirks.

Danny grimaces. “How much access do you people get into our database?”

Laura waves her hand carelessly. “How much don’t we? But that’s not important right now.”

Carmilla sits up, stretching her back out, and nods. “The important thing now is that we know who you want, and it isn’t us.”

“It’s her mother,” Laura chimes in as Carmilla scowls.

“Laura’s been, over the years, compiling various proofs and evidence, yadda yadda blah, anyway we’ve got a ton of shit on various jobs that’ve either directly or traceably inadvertently benefited various legislative bills, politicians and other rich powerful people. And we can link them to my mother and her little board of soulless directors. We’ll give you all of these documents without even charging overtime for work that was probably yours to do, but in return we want immunity.” 

“And a very, very long, quiet retirement,” Laura adds.

“Or we go public and sink this whole country,” Carmilla finishes quietly.

Danny laughs and smacks the pile of papers against her thigh. “Look, this is great and all, but it’s not going to hold up for The Agency. I mean, yeah, a multibillion-dollar corporation of hired killers, sure – capitalism, right? And I’m sure at some point wealthy and influential people have come to you to get some work done, but there’s no chance in hell you would’ve been able to compile anything coming close to solid evidence. Do you think this is some kind of massive conspiracy theory?”

Laura squints at Danny, perturbed. “Of _course_ there’s a massive conspiracy theory. Don’t you know anything about genre, Danny?" 

“We kill people for a living,’ Carmilla says lazily, gesturing for Laura to bring her the glass of water next to Danny’s foot, ‘and your concerns are about whether conspiracy theories are anything except theories?" 

Danny sighs and leans back, then frowns and leans forward to free her legs. When she finishes, she stretches carefully, watching Laura and Carmilla, who haven’t moved from their lazy sprawl on the couch. Moving the chair aside, Danny sits down in the middle of the living room, crossing her legs and beginning to spread out the sheaf of paper.

“I’ll need a pen, and also my glasses. And my phone, so I can call Betty and tell her I’m not dead and in a ditch somewhere, just in case she decides to send the army in.” 

Carmilla coughs as Laura looks apologetically at Danny, who cocks an eyebrow.

“We may have incinerated your phone,” Laura finally says.

“Because of the tracker,” Carmilla explains.

“We _can_ get you your glasses and a pen though,” Laura says, moving towards the kitchen, and then, glancing back, adds, “and maybe some aspirin.”

Danny sighs softly, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, hiding the small smile she can feel pulling at her lips.


	8. some some some I some I murder, some I some I let go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which our favourite dorks are almost as trashy as the title

“You know, Big Red, I think it’s customary to bring food, drink, or other assorted date-like items to an in-house movie date night.”

Danny rolls her eyes as she pushes past Carmilla into the apartment, pulling a bottle of wine out of her leather satchel as she does. “Would I visit without refreshments?”

Carmilla grins and examines the bottle, then slowly gives Danny the once-over, taking in her black slacks and tucked-in white shirt, the top buttons open, glancing only briefly at her shoulder holster under her black blazer. “Not bad. Trying to impress me?”

“You wish. I had three meetings today.”

“Hi Danny,’ Laura steps out of the bathroom and smiles up at Danny, vigorously drying her hair with a white towel, a skimpy yellow towel loosely tied around her.

Danny swallows hard. “Hey, Laura. I brought the finalised contract over.”

“Great, could you leave it on the counter? I’ll read it in a bit.” Laura goes back into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Sitting down across Carmilla at the kitchen counter, Danny says, “You’ve been approved for our Witness Protection Operations, by the way. You’ll be shipped out to an as yet undetermined location in Western Europe, and they’ve deemed it too dangerous for me to know exactly where yet, but my guess is either Iceland or Finland. I know you both speak French, and Carmilla, I’m pretty sure you speak German. How’s your Swedish?”

“Mediocre, but it should do. How’s the fight for immunity going?”

Danny makes a face. “They’re _really_ not happy with it, but you’re not technically a citizen, so they’re letting the European division untangle that one. Considering how inept and inefficient they are though, if you’re ever officially charged it won’t be for another years, at least after they’ve sorted out the Firm, by which point I’m pretty sure you’ll have disappeared into the ether.”

“You know me so well, Gingersnap. It’s almost as if you have a file on me that meticulously tracks my modus operandi. What about Laura?”

Danny takes a long swallow of the wine Carmilla’s poured her. “Laura’s currently under investigation.”

“Say that again? This was not the deal,” Carmilla’s voice drops slightly, her eyes narrowing.

“Relax. It’s just so administration feel like they actually have a grasp on things. Plus, same deal: even if they find anything it won’t come up until after the Firm’s down and out, which won’t be for years. Anyway, we both know they’re not going to be able to find anything on you two. Your genius hackers manage to wipe out almost everything we have.”

“Which is why our personal witness statements and extensive, verifiable knowledge of everything the Firm does in multiple continents is so important to this prosecution,” Carmilla grins blandly at Danny, who rolls her eyes again.

“Yeah, yeah, genius. The arrest is planned for this week; you and Laura are on annual leave, right?”

“It says ‘Couples Retreat’ on our forms, and we’re not due back for another 8 days.”

“And your mom-”

“Will be hosting a very important gala night for most of the people you want in three days-”

“Our sources actually got that right, for once.”

“And the ones who aren’t attending are the ones who’re refusing to refinance the Firm and have been scheduled for some incredibly convenient accidents caused by, amongst some other interesting things, icy roads, bad plumbing, and dangerously uncovered building sites.”

“It shouldn’t be too hard to convince them to testify on our behalf, since your mom’s prepared to kill them all without a thought.”

“Well, they _have_ been backing a corporation of mass murderers. I’d be surprised if it comes as a surprise to them, frankly.”

Danny ignores Carmilla, continuing in a slightly louder voice, “And if we’re lucky, our German branch won’t bungle this up and we’ll actually get everyone all at once.” Danny nervously bounces her knee, tapping at her now-empty wine glass with one finger. “Hey, what’s so special about three days’ time, anyway?”

Carmilla’s jaw clenches slightly, then she laughs mirthlessly, recklessly. “It’s William’s 25th birthday. Those spectacular accidental deaths are his birthday presents.”

Danny winces slightly. “I’m sorry,” she says softly, reaching out to cover Carmilla’s hand with her own.

Carmilla shrugs. “It’s okay. Shit happens. I’ll get over it, probably.” Carmilla doesn’t move her hand away, but flips it so her palms are connected to Danny’s, and then she squeezes slightly. “Thanks for not just, you know, letting us rot in prison.”

“I’d rather take my shot at taking down the entire international Firm with some reliable as heck testimony and undeniable proof than put just one or two people away who might not even talk.”

“Plus, you didn’t actually have any irrefutable evidence, right?” Carmilla smirks up at Danny.

“Shut up. The incompetency of the Agency is classified information.” Danny frowns, pulling her hand away from over Carmilla’s.

“Actually the incompetency of the Agency is so well-talked about you’re not even an inside joke anymore,” Carmilla says carefully, pretending to flick lint off the loose t-shirt she’s wearing over leggings.

“It’s true,” Laura says, a laugh in her voice as she steps out of the bathroom in an oversized blue hoodie and leggings.

Danny sighs. It’s true that it wasn’t _un_ true. “I’ve been thinking about taking a sabbatical, to be honest.”

.

_“I think it’s a great idea, actually._ ”

_Danny frowns at Betty before finishing her coffee. “Really?”_

_“Yeah. You’ve been overworked, especially lately, and to be honest, I think this assignment affected you more than you’d like to admit.” Betty says it lightly, but Danny still finds herself wincing slightly._

_“Look, give it a week or two, tie up the loose ends, complete your reports, and then decide if you want to go on sabbatical until the trial starts. Also,” Betty grins, “The bosses wouldn’t mind, either. I think you sent some of the big ones upstairs into cardiac arrest when they found out what you’d been doing.”_

_“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Danny says, looking up at Betty from where she’s tying the laces of her black brogues._

_“It did. You’re a lucky kid, Danny Lawrence. Anyone else, and it would’ve been –” Betty draws a line with her finger across her throat._

_“Thanks, Betty. You’re always the reassuring one, eh?”_

_“My pleasure. But seriously, you’ve been really lucky, Danny.”_

_Danny glances down at her shoes. “Yeah, I guess I have been.”_

.

“You single-handedly took down the biggest assassination firm in the world. Which, by the way, makes us unemployed hobos, so thanks for that, Danny.”

“Sorry, Karnstein. I didn’t mean to make it so that you had to stop killing people for a living. Oh wait, I did.”

“Behave, you two’ Laura interjects calmly, refilling Danny’s wineglass and pouring herself a glass, ‘And Danny, why do you want to go on sabbatical?”

Danny shrugs, swirling her wine around. “I’m getting tired, I guess. And no offence, but this assignment took a lot out of me.”

“None taken.” Laura reaches out and pushes a strand of Danny’s hair behind her ear, resisting the urge to cup Danny’s face in her hand. “If you do on on break, stay safe, okay? There are going to be a lot of angry people who want a piece of the agent that took down the entire Firm.”

“I’ll be the first in line. Thanks for the unemployment, asshole.”

“Carm!” Laura scolds.

“What? She knows I’m kidding. Mostly.”  
Danny smiles up at the two women across the counter, who’ve somehow manoeuvred themselves into Carmilla resting her chin on Laura’s shoulder from behind, arms wrapped around her waist. “I know. Anyway, LaFontaine and Perry and a few others are keeping watch on your apartment, presumably to stop you from running away, but really it’s to keep you safe.”

“Thank you, Danny,” Laura says sincerely.

“Sure. Anyway, I should probably go,” Danny says, draining the rest of her glass.

“What’s the hurry, Honey Bunny?” Carmilla smirks, stepping out from behind Laura to lean casually against the hallway, blocking Danny’s exit.

“You’ve had two, probably closer to three, standard drinks, thanks to Carmilla less than adequate pouring skills; you really shouldn’t be driving home, Danny, at least not yet,’ Laura adds, moving to stand beside Carmilla, ‘I mean, you’re a bartender – you should know this.”

Danny glances curiously between Laura and Carmilla. “You’re not going to tie me up again, are you?”

“Not unless you want us to,” Carmilla smirks.

Laura nods, stepping closer to Danny. “You look really good in a suit, by the way.”

Danny blushes. “Thanks, uh – I had three me-”

“Three meetings today, I heard,” Laura smiles up at Danny, reaching out slowly and adjusting Danny’s lapels.

Danny blinks rapidly, and she hears Carmilla laugh lightly, but Laura’s looking up at her, hands still pressed lightly over her lapels, and she’s finding it hard to concentrate.

“BFG, you seem a little stressed. Did those really important meetings go well?” Carmilla sidles closer to Danny, her eyes flickering between Danny’s eyes and lips, her voice low.

“Danny,’ Laura interrupts, ‘Can I kiss you?”

“Um.”

“Lawrence, you talk too much, has anyone mentioned that?”

Danny breathes in slowly, reaching out to run her hand through Laura’s damp hair.

(She smells like apples, crisp and fresh, and her eyes are warm, creased by a gentle smile.)  
Danny leans down and presses her lips against Laura’s jaw, feels Laura lift her head, her throat vibrating softly as she hums with appreciation. Danny moves her hand from Laura’s hair to her face, runs her thumb lightly over Laura’s lower lip.

Danny’s breath catches as she presses her lips against Laura’s, feels them part, feels small teeth against her lower lip as she groans and bunches the hem of Laura’s hoodie in her other hand.

Without breaking the kiss, Laura tugs on the lapels of Danny’s jacket, pulling Danny closer against her before dropping her hands inside the jacket, pressing small, insistent hands against her abdomen, dragging her shirt out from her pants.

Vaguely, Danny registers Carmilla coming around behind her and pulling at the collar of her jacket, and when she lets go of Laura, her jacket slips off her arms and Carmilla tosses it against the wall.

Danny’s hips arch forward involuntarily as Carmilla presses flush against her back, hands starting on her hips but sliding forward, lower.

“Watch the holster,” Danny mumbles into Laura’s mouth as Laura fumbles with the buttons of her shirt, hands lightly grazing over her black lace bra.

“Don’t they teach you in spy school to keep the safeties on, Agent Lawrence?” Carmilla purrs, swiftly unbuckling the holster and quickly but carefully placing it on top of Danny’s jacket.

Danny pulls away from Laura’s lips and turns to give Carmilla a dark look that only lasts a second, because she’s pulled down by her shirt collar into a hot, wet kiss, and her knees buckle slightly.

Laura’s voice behind them is low, scratchier than usual. “As much fun as I’m having, we should move to the bed. Now.”

Danny’s eyelashes flutter against Carmilla’s at the sound of Laura’s voice, and Carmilla smirks, her lips still hovering over Danny’s. “Cupcake is pretty bossy. Did you guess?”

Danny grins and lets herself be led into the bedroom. She pushes Carmilla back against the bed, straddling her and presses her lips to Carmilla’s flushed, warm neck. “Judging by our last time together, you like that, so I guess it works out, eh?”

From behind Danny, Laura laughs agreeably.

.

Danny pushes an unmarked, thick brown folder over the booth table and sits back, folding her hands on top of the table.

LaFontaine looks at her gravely, and Perry takes another slow sip of water.

“It’s all yours, agents. Confirmation and delegation. Everything’s in order.”

“Are you sure about this, Danny?” Perry asks, her hand already hovering over the cover of the folder.  
Danny shrugs. “It had to happen at some point. Why not now, when I’m at the peak of my game?”

LaFontaine narrows their eyes at her slightly. “It’s not a game, Danny.”

Danny sighs. “It was starting to feel that way, honestly. Started feeling kind of unreal, you know? And maybe that’s why I’m taking an indeterminable leave of absence. Get my head back into the game and such.”

Perry coughs softly. “Didn’t you get assigned as a personal guard to a certain pair of people until a particular trial gets scheduled and they happen to be needed, Danny?”

Danny has the grace to smile bashfully as LaFontaine throws their hands into the air, muttering, “For fuck’s sake.”

“I cannot confirm nor deny if that has anything to do with my apparently temporary leave of absence. But, girl to girl, Perry,’ Danny leans in close to Perry, blocking out LaFontaine with her shoulder, ignoring the scandalised expression on their face, ‘it might have a tiny bit to do with that.”

That’s when their milkshakes and pie arrive, so LaFontaine bites back the outraged comment they were going to make.

(Perry’s hand lightly tapping their knee under the table helps. They both were, after all, getting a major promotion. Nothing to complain about at all, really.)

Danny takes a huge bite of apple pie and sighs contentedly through her mouthful. “I’m really going to miss this, though.”

“Us?” Perry sounds almost hopeful.

“Nah, this pie,’ Danny grins at her, ‘Who knows if they have apple pie this good in the classified location I’m getting shipped off to?”

LaFontaine rolls their eyes, but shoots Danny a small smile anyway.

Things weren’t that bad, really, all things considered.

.

_Danny breathes out against Betty’s hair as she disentangles herself from their tight hug. “I’ll miss you, Betty.”_

_Betty’s smile is small, but genuine. “Take care of yourself, Danny. I’ll miss you too.”_

_Danny picks up her duffel bag, and is about to walk out of the apartment when Betty says “Ma’am,” which makes her gag dramatically._

_“C’mon, Betty, I told you not to call me that,” Danny groans, but she reaches out to grasp Betty’s proffered hand anyway._

_“It’s been an honour, Danny girl. Watch your back for me, okay?” Betty grins weakly at Danny, who pulls her into another tight hug._

_Just then, Danny’s phone vibrates in her coat pocket._

_“I have to go, they’re downstairs,” Danny says apologetically, pulling away and starting towards the door._

_Betty nods and waves, but as the door slams shut behind her, Danny distinctly hears Betty loudly mutter, “Whipped.”_

.

“So, is my entire family in custody or what?” Carmilla’s wearing her usual leather pants with her black leather jacket over a white shirt, heavy black-booted feet tapping the ground, but she looks small anyway.

Danny tangles her fingers with Carmilla’s, still carefully looking around them at the deserted runway, the wind whipping through her hair. “They are, yes. I’m sorry.”

“Nah. I’m kind of glad, in a way, I guess,” Carmilla shrugs, feigning nonchalance.

Laura, on Carmilla’s other side, wraps an arm around her waist and kisses her on the cheek softly. “It’ll be okay.”

Carmilla hums in response, pulling the other two closer to her. “At least we’ll all be together in some cold as fuck shithole European town with incredibly unreliable wifi, eh?”

Danny coughs. “Actually, the wifi’s pretty good. I made sure.”

Laura pouts. “And when are you going to tell us where we’re going, Danny?”

“Classified information, sweetheart,” Danny intones.

“I do not sound like that,” Carmilla growls, swatting at Danny’s arm.

“You’ll be briefed on the plane, which should arrive in,’ Danny glances at her watch, ‘about two minutes.”

Laura shakes her head, looking disappointed. “Why do we even keep you around?”

“According to Carmilla, it’s because I have features that look like they were chiselled from marble by the Old Masters,” Danny shrugs.

Carmilla nods thoughtfully. “I really can’t think of a single other reason. It’s pretty much just because my eyes enjoy the incredible angularities of your face – they’re like disturbances in the fabric of space and time. Gives me something interesting to look forward to when I wake up in the morning.”

Laura shakes her head and reaches out to take Danny’s free hand, smiling sweetly up at her. “I’m really glad things turned out the way they did.”  
Danny nods solemnly. “Remember that time I thought you were going to stab me in your apartment and leave me to rot in a deep ravine somewhere, left behind to be eaten by coyotes?”

Carmilla looks at Danny sternly, completely affronted. “Please, we would never kill you in our own apartment. We’re _professionals_.”

Danny smirks and ruffles Carmilla’s windswept hair, simultaneously squeezing Laura’s hand. “I think the term you’re looking for is ‘were’. You’re just unemployed now, remember?”

“Hey, remember that time this big lummox lost us the best job we were probably ever going to get?”

“The benefits were pretty good,” Laura admits.

“The benefits were great!’ Carmilla groans, ‘We’ll never see the likes of them again. Especially not in whatever godforsaken tiny town we’re going to.”

Danny sighs. _Some_ murderers would be absolutely delighted with being given immunity and full-time witness protection services.

Some murderers were Carmilla.

Still, Danny muses, things could be worse. She smiles slightly as she listens to Laura question Carmilla about whether Carmilla had had a hand in coming up with the terms of their employee contract and whether that was legal, considering she also benefited from that contract.

“Speaking of contracts,’ Carmilla frowns, ‘I think we’ve probably violated ours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thus ends this ridiculous saga. thanks for joining me on this incredibly unsafe roller-coaster of a fic, it's been fun.
> 
> hit me up @ imagine-some-gays.tumblr.com


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